Where Is My Life Going?
by Kiwi Anime
Summary: Everybody is going on with their own wonderful lives. And me? Me? Not sure where my life is going yet. But it’s gonna be exciting. Mark POV. Continuation of 'A Thing Like Life'. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer For Story**: I don't own any of the characters. All I own is my little brain, which likes to characterize these wonderful characters and set them looks to do what Jonathan Larson intended for them to do, based on his vision, and not on my own personal whims.

**A/N**: Firstly and foremostly, I want to thank all that reviewed A Think Like Life. Your reviews encouraged me to write! I just want to encourage more constructive reviews. Tell me one thing you think I could do better. Even point out typos, no matter how small. I will be forever grateful if you point out a typo.

Secondly, I want to tell you to read my fic A Think Like Life if you have not already. It's just seven chapters long, each chapter no longer than 2000 words. Really short by many standards. At first I thought this wouldn't depend so much on ATLL, but it ended up doing so. They're just completely different plots, so I can't put them together. ATLL was about Mark learning to live his own life again and face his fears. And WIMLG is more about figuring out how he's gonna go about doing that. Cause it's not as easy suddenly deciding to live life as Mark hoped it would be.

Part I of Mark's Life series, 'A Thing Like Life', a must-read to understand this fic, is found at http/ story has been rated PG-13 for **language** and **mild violence**.I will update the first chapter whenever I add something new I think is controversial.

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for language._

**Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter One**

_January 19th, 10 AM, Eastern Standard Time. Roger told me last night he need to borrow some money for something, and when I asked him what for, he said it was for 'jewelry'. I also saw him looking in the phone book as he called up fancy restaurants to see who had the cheapest menus. Mimi still brings in money to put on the table for me and Roger, but she says she might be quitting soon to get a better job somewhere else. Joanne is planning a surprise birthday party for Maureen for right after her brand new protest next weekend and she wants me to buy the candles. (I might have enough for trick candles; that would be entertaining.) Collins might even be able to take a break from trying to infiltrate the virtual reality equipment at NYU to come down for the party. Hell, Benny might even come, but he'll probably just end up pestering us for the rent. Everybody is going on with their own wonderful lives._

_And me? Me? Not sure where my life is going yet. But it's gonna be exciting._

_.-.-._

"MARK, GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS AND COME ON!"

I continue to glare at the ceiling, having been doing so very intently for the past few minutes since my roommate had come into my room and rudely awoken me. _You know, maybe I shouldn't get up, _just_ to annoy him..._

"Mark, please! You know Joanne will be mad at us if we're late!"

A long, defeated sigh escapes through my lips. Despite my utter hatred of Roger for waking me at the moment, I'm not going to mess up Joanne's big plans because of it. I roll over in my bed, grabbing my glasses off of the table (which now has a slightly wobbly leg since I had tipped it over a week or so ago) and shoving them onto my face. "I'm coming, OK?" I almost fall out of bed in my angry rage. Anybody that knows me well enough knows that however 'mild-mannered' I am most of the time, I'm 'a smart old bitch' when I'm woken up, as Roger so delicately calls me.

My bedroom door is thrown open, and a disgruntled Roger grabs a shirt off of the floor of my room and throws it at me. "Didn't have time to go to the laundromat last night," he mutters slightly, as if I actually expected him to do something so difficult as to walk a block with a few shirts and get some clean clothes for the two of us. I roll my eyes as I pull the shirt over my head, still in quite a sour mood at Roger. He is probably used to it by now.

Just as he is about to walk out of the door of my bedroom, I grab him by the shirt and pull him back into my room. He staggers slightly, confused. I lean next to him, whispering softly in his ear, "Tonight?"

He gives me a stern look, and shakes his head. I sigh, saying a little louder than before, but still not loud enough for Mimi to hear us in the living room, "You've gotta do it eventually. I'm not letting you waste the money you spent on that 'jewelry' to just put it off." He just gives me yet another stern look, and I give up, going back into my room to grab a comb and furiously comb my hair.

About a minute later, after I have grabbed my scarf and gathered up my equipment (for once, neither Roger nor Mimi complain that I'm bringing my camera with me, since they know I will need it tonight), the three of us are walking down the fire escape out into the foggy January morning as Mimi indignantly states that we had promised Joanne we would be there at 9 and we probably wouldn't be there until 9:10 because of me.

Until recently, I have never really walked down the streets of New York and taken it in. That is, not unless I was watching it from behind my camera. But actually looking at it with my own eyes, not shunning it away like before...There's always something moving, alive and living. Sure, I saw the images on my film, watched the polluted clouds soar overhead...but I haven't experienced it like this for a while. It's a nice feeling, just walking down and looking at the world around me, feeling like I'm a part of this living, breathing city, instead of a lonely bystander, watching it fly past me.

"Hello? Earth to Mark?" I'm jerked out of my contemplation, as Roger looks at me with a smirk. "What planet were you on? I asked if you think vanilla or chocolate is better."

My eyebrows rise up in disbelief. "The party's tonight, and you haven't gotten the cake."

"Hey, you're one to talk!" (I love how he rushes to his own defense so quickly; it's one of the things about Roger that makes me laugh out loud sometimes.) "Who had to suddenly rush out last night because he had bought the wrong kind of candles?"

Mimi looks over Roger's shoulder, her head cocked to the side. "The wrong kind of candles? Mark, how could you have gotten the wrong kind of candles? There's such a thing as the 'wrong kind of candles'?"

Roger rolls his eyes, turning to Mimi to talk, but obviously intending for me to listen in. (I work very hard to suppress the laughs that are begging to spring forth; I haven't told anybody else my plan for the candles.) "Mark got blue ones instead of pink ones, you know. Has to make sure the candles match the decorations..."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," I say with an extra ounce of sarcasm. (I'm still trying to mask the fact that I want to break down into a fit of laughter. Thankfully, I've always been good at that kind of stuff. My mom always said I should have been an actor.)

"What's the joke? If it's about Mark, lemme in on it!"

I turn around to see Collins walking up behind us, jogging to keep up. I see him holding a bag of decorations, including streamers and party hats, all blue. Roger obviously sees the decorations as well. "Oh, guess you'll have to get NEW candles, Mark! The decorations ARE blue!"

I shove Roger lightly before going up to Collins and giving him a quick hug. "Hello to you, too, Collins."

Collins laughs, pulling away, holding up the decorations. "You don't think Maureen will mind that they have 'NYU' all over them, will you? I was able to get them cheap from the bookstore: the student who volunteers there is helping me with my project."

"You're getting the students in on this too, Collins?" Mimi makes her voice sound annoyed, but I see her smiling. "Trying to make it a full on rebellion this time, hmm?"

Collins shrugs. "Figured that the problem at MIT was that it was a one-man team. And most of the students volunteered of their own accord."

"_Most_ being the keyword there," Roger says as he hugs Collins as well. "Good to see you, man."

"Good to see you too," Collins says with a laugh. "You act as if I'm some diabolical scientist planning to take over the world. These students are really enthusiastic, though. I've recruited a few computer majors, and this time it'll be much bigger than MIT."

"Such as...?" I let the comment hang, knowing he probably would tell us what his plans were without us encouraging him.

I am exactly right, of course, since Collins can not seem to suppress the sly smirk that curls his lips. "We're talking the entire computer network. Complete shut down, as all the computers go into permanent sleep mode with the slogan blinking in bright red letters on the screens. That _includes_ the digital sign at the entrance with the announcements."

"Impressive. I'm sure your mother would be proud, Collins." Roger smirks with equal cunning and deviousness. At times like these, it didn't surprise me that many times I link Roger and Collins so often in my mind.

"We're here!" Mimi bounds up the steps of the apartment building, me, Roger, and Collins following behind her. We walk all the way up to the top floor, Mimi still leading the way. ("How the hell does she have so much energy," Roger pants out as we jog up the staircase. "She's my girlfriend, and I don't even know.") When we reach the door of the correct apartment, Mimi knocks about five times very quickly. After a short pause, a flustered Joanne appears, opening the door and letting us in.

"OK, we get about two hours to decorate in here, and then Maureen wants us to go down to the lot to help get the stage ready." Joanne is running all around the small apartment, and I can see she is probably overstressing over the party she is planning.

We set to work immediately, Collins setting the bag of decorations on the couch and pulling out streamers. Roger and Mimi set to work hanging up plastic letters that read 'Happy Birthday' up on the wall, as Collins begins blowing up balloons. I help Joanne clean the dishes (there is a teetering pile in the sink) in silence for a few minutes, both of us content with listening to the others and their hectic action. ("Roger, it's crooked." "No it's not." "Yes it is. Move your end up a little bit." "Mimi, it's not crooked." "Collins, tell him it's crooked." Silence. Sudden heavy breathing. "DAMN, I can't BREATH...")

Joanne finally breaks the silence. "I suppose you could guess that..."

"Maureen wants me to help with the sound check. I guessed as much."

"You know how bad I am with the sound," she says with a light smirk. "I can handle the lights, but my technical knowledge stops there."

I shrug. "Always happy to be of service." I begin to scrub very hard at a piece of food that is stuck to the plate. "More soap, please." Joanne obliges, giving my plate a little squirt of soap as I scrub the grime off. Collins has abandoned the balloons and moved on to decorating the seven chairs cramped around the dining table with streamers. Roger has taken up the task of blowing up the balloons ("Mimi, _you_ get the fucking thing straight."), with a little more success than Collins.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Joanne drops her plate in the sink (I catch it before it shatters), rushing to the phone, stumbling all over the floor littered with punctured balloons and plastic wrappers in her rush. The answering machine takes over after just one ring. "Hello, you've reached Maureen and Joanne! Leave your message at the beep! Oh, and be sure to catch my newest performance, Fire in the Hole, tonight at the lot at eleven! We were going to have a party at Life, but they banned us –"

"Hello?...Hey, Maureen...yeah, just sitting around..._BE QUIET!_" She put her hand over the receiver as Mimi swore softly, having pricked herself with the pin used to secure the letters. "Yeah, I'm still here...Umm, dunno, must've been on your end...Yes, I know, Maureen...Eleven, I know. We'll all be there. Do you want me to tell them their assignments before hand?...Mmm-hmm...yeah...OK...yeah, he's coming...yes, Maureen...OK! We'll all be there...Yes, I'll bring it...Yes...Maureen, I'm sure you have _plenty_ of work to do for tonight, so I'll let you get to work. Bye...yes, I'll bring it...Of course..._Goodbye_, Maureen." She hangs up the phone, exhaling deeply. She looks up at me, and I give her a wink, unnoticed by Mimi (who is sucking her finger, which is probably bleeding), Roger (who is helping Mimi), or Collins (who is preoccupied with decorating the chairs). She looks exhausted just from the conversation. God knows I had felt like that so many times before after just talking to Maureen.

"OK," she says, with her usual authority that came with the package of being a lawyer as everybody else looks up at her. "So, here are the assignments. Roger, you're going to be cleaning up the place."

"Why me?" Roger grumbles under his breath, receiving an elbow in the ribs from Mimi.

"Mimi, you get to help her with her costume."

"She has a costume?" Mimi was obviously not expecting that. I wonder how over the top Maureen's 'performance' will be this time.

"Collins, you're working on the decorations."

"Can't I get these figured out first?" Collins was having a hard time with the streamers now; they were getting tangled up and he was ripping them as he tried to untangle them. (I almost laugh at the realization that Joanne was completely ignoring everybody's side comments.)

"I'll be working on getting the lighting up, and, of course, Mark will be working with Maureen and the sound check."

Roger sneers in my direction, as if to say, 'Of _course_ Mark gets to do the sound check.' I ignore him, going over to the balloons and trying my hand at blowing up a few. Collins finally was getting the hand of the streamers, and Roger and Mimi were now both working on the sign. I don't have problems blowing up the balloons. My problem comes when I try to do the knots to close them. I keep swearing in Hebrew under my breath (It will probably always be my little secret that I can swear in Hebrew) as the plastic keeps slipping between my sweaty fingers.

After getting about five balloons finally done, the sound of shattering china comes from the direction of the small half kitchen. All eyes turn to see a suddenly completely stressed out Joanne. "Shit! It's already 10:50!"

All activity immediately halts as we leap up, the balloon I have been working on tying slipping out of my fingers and whizzing across the room with a crude sound that causes a quick giggle from Mimi. We all go as a group, making our way for the lot as fast as our feet could take us through the living streets of New York.

And all the time, throughout the entire morning, the same thought kept going through my mind: _I'm living my life...one minute at a time..._

.-.-.

**A/N**: I know right now it sounds a little silly and airy, but there is a real plot developing. Trust me. Oh, and let me know what you think of the title. It'll probably be more fitting later in the fic, but right now it's just cool. Lot better than the last title I thought up. 'Ms. Jefferson', a fic about Joanne. Wow.

P.S. You loved that line, didn't you, KitKat? 'GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS AND COME ON!' XXDD You probably liked the line where I dropped an 'f' bomb, too. You were probably all, 'OMG! KIWI CUSSED!' XXDD I didn't cuss, though. _Roger_ cussed. And Roger cusses all the time in my fics. XXDD He likes that word a lot in my mind, for some reason. Even though he never really says it in the musical, I imagine him being a big potty mouth. XXXXDDDD I feel like such a little kid, saying 'potty mouth'.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: There is lots of, lots of **language** in this chapter. (Yes, when I say there's language, that means something other than 'shit' 'damn' or 'crap'. Usually starts with an 'f' and usually comes out of Roger's mouth. XD) I played 'Count the F Bombs' for this chapter, and I got FIVE! Wow! And all in the last half of the chapter! So, if you thought the first chapter was too light and happy-go-lucky, enjoy angry, yelling, swearing Chapter Two!

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for language and mild violence._

**Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter Two**

"Oh, the one with the purple wrapping paper is mine!" Mimi points out a package in the small pile on the table, all of us crowded around the table, Maureen and Mimi with little blue party hats on that say 'Congratulations, Class of 90' on them.

Maureen picks up the suggested gift, but pauses before ripping of the paper. "I can't believe you guys did this for me...it's amazing..."

Joanne smiles at her, taking her hand in her own. "You deserve it. It's your birthday tomorrow, and you worked hard on your performance."

"Which was _wonderful_, I might add," Collins adds, encouraging a chorus of 'Yes it was' and 'Really great' from the rest of us.

Maureen smiles sheepishly. "Oh, it's all so sweet of you guys...OH! I should open this present, shouldn't I?" She rips off the paper happily, revealing a small sugar bowl. "Oh, how thoughtful!" She looks up at Mimi. "How did you know I broke the last one?"

Mimi shrugs. "Roger found out, and he suggested it."

Maureen smiles happily. "How sweet of him! ...Where is Roger, anyways?"

All of us turn to look at Mimi; she hasn't told any of us where he had gone to. She shifts in her chair slightly under the pressure of all our eyes glued on her. "Well...he had to run into the loft to grab the cake, and he just came out and gave it to me and said he didn't feel good..."

My heart jumps a mile high. "Mimi...did he...?"

"Mark, relax. He looked fine. I wouldn't have left him alone otherwise." She smiles reassuringly at me, but I'm not convinced as my mind races. I've always felt that I've had the responsibility of making sure Roger stays healthy. I always have, and possibly always will, until the day he...

"You just relax, Mark." Joanne places a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I sigh, knowing that I won't be allowed to leave to make sure he isn't getting sick.

Maureen sees the need to change the subject and suddenly pipes up. "OK, so I've opened Collins' gift, Joanne's gift, Mimi and Roger's gift...That means this one..." She picks up the only remaining package, wrapped in newspaper. She looks up at me, smiling and excited, and I simply shrug, smirking in spite of myself. She rips the paper off of it and stares at it. "Oh my God...Mark, this is amazing..."

Collins tries to lean over me to see the gift. "What is it? What'd he get you?"

Maureen turns the gift to face the group, and there is a loud, congregational intake of air. I had wrapped up a simple wooden picture frame, and inside was a black and white picture I had taken a long time ago...a picture of everybody. Joanne and Maureen are trapping each other in an intense hug, Roger and I are making faces at the camera that include rude gestures with our hands, and Mimi is making an 'exotic pose' for the camera. And, right in the middle, smiling the biggest of all, secured in a one-armed hug by Collins...

Collins raises a hand to his mouth immediately, shocked. "It's Angel."

Everybody stares at the picture in silence for quite a while. I finally decide to pipe up. "I worked for at least an hour to develop that picture just right. And I have enough prints for all of us, one for each place. I had left the negative alone until not too long ago."

Maureen gets up, trapping me in a great big hug. "This is wonderful, Mark. I love it."

I smile, as everybody else passes around the picture, looking at it with fond eyes, and, in one case, very watery eyes. I feel like, for once, I've given a great gift to everybody, instead of their own lives making me happy. Instead of me watching their happiness, I'm giving something back..._I am living my life..._

.-.-.

"Hello-ooo...anybody home?" I open the door into the loft, having walked home from Maureen and Joanne's apartment alone. "Roger? You there?"

It isn't until I'm inside the loft that I see Roger, not even looking up at me, playing the guitar, a disconnected tune I have been hearing recently.

I blink, looking at him for a moment. "What's up? Why didn't you come to the party?" No response, as Roger simply continues to play the guitar, not looking up at me. "...Everybody loved the cake..." Still no response. I realize immediately that something is amiss. "OK, what happened?"

I can almost feel the coldness in his gaze as he looks up at me. "You have a message."

I blink again, stunned by his suddenly cold expression. He looks back down at his guitar, as if looking at me is too difficult. Not knowing what else to do, I go over to the answering machine, pushing a button.

"Hello. This is Nancy Moles from Peaks Studios in LA, calling for Mr. Mark Cohen. Your footage you submitted to our studio was top rate, and we would be quite interested in a long-term contract. Your skills would be very useful in one of our upcoming projects. Please contact us as soon as possible to discuss a possible agreement between us. You can reach me at my office at 970-3419. We'll be eagerly awaiting your call, Mr. Cohen!"

The line goes dead as I stare at the machine, amazed by what I had just heard, thinking it over in my head. I vaguely remember sending a clip of my documentary to the studio after seeing an ad in the mail. Just as I start to become almost excited by the fact that they liked my footage, Roger suddenly throws his guitar on the couch, causing me to jump slightly and turn to face at him. I am stunned by the anger in his eyes, glaring at me so fiercely. "So, when you decided to 'face your fears', you meant you were going to sell out, is that it?"

I stagger backwards, stunned. "I..."

"You _sent your footage_ to a _studio_!" He is furious...I can't believe how furious he is... "Is that your idea of 'living life'? Leave the rest of us and joining some big shot studio!"

"Roger, I..."

"Well, if you want to do that, _fine by me_. I won't be sticking around for you to come crawling back to."

"You're acting like I've _betrayed_ you or something!"

"You're _selling out!_" Roger stands up, glaring at me still.

I can do nothing but take a step backwards in amazement, almost confusion at his behavior. "I sent some footage out to a studio! I saw their address, and thought, what the hell, why not?"

"It's _that easy_ for you to just sell your soul like that!"

Something snaps in my brain, a little part of me that was so good at concealing the horrors inside my own mind, and I suddenly feel every fear in my life welling up within me, pouring out and slowly morphing into anger... "It's easier than keeping it shut inside! You don't know what it's like..."

"FUCK THAT, MARK!" The sheer power of his voice was almost overwhelming as he takes a step forward, but my own anger is too strong to be blown over. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE CHANGING!"

"WHAT IF I..." My fingernails feel like they will cut into my palms soon as I struggle to fit words to my anger that's pouring out like a faucet. "WHAT IF I WANT TO ACTUALLY _DO_ SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE!"

"SO ALL THIS WE'VE DONE...IS JUST WAISTED LIFE! ALL THIS WAS JUST _NOTHING_!" He throws his hands in the air, motioning around the loft wildly.

The final bit of my control suddenly abandons me as I say the first words that spring from my mouth. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU NEVER WILL, BECAUSE _YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE AIDS_!"

I know I've crossed a forbidden line the moment the words escape my mouth. His eyes flare up with an angry fire and widen in pure and unadulterated hatred, and suddenly he's right up next to me, his face right in front of mine, his voice dangerously low as if a growl. "You think that because _you_...Little Mark, Poor Mark, he doesn't have AIDS..." Suddenly he's shouting, right in my face as I glare right back at him. "YOU'RE NO DIFFERENT! YOU'RE STILL THE FUCKING FILMMAKER, STUCK WITH US! POOR MARK! HE DOESN'T HAVE AIDS! WHAT ABOUT POOR APRIL!" He shoves me roughly, and I stagger backwards slightly, side stepping slightly so that he isn't backing me up against a wall. "YOU DIDN'T CARE AT ALL THAT SHE DIED! WHAT ABOUT POOR ANGEL!"

"DON'T YOU _DARE_ SAY I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT ANGEL!" I shove him back, a little harder.

"BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T!" He shoves me back, quite hard this time, and now he's advancing on me, forcing me to back up as I continually glare at him. "WHAT ABOUT POOR MIMI! HUH? WHEN SHE DIES, IT'LL STILL BE 'POOR MARK, POOR _MARK!_'" He shoves me again, and now I'm up against the wall. "WHAT ABOUT POOR _COLLINS!_" His hands are pinning me against the wall now, pressing my shoulders against the cold cement. "NO, NO! IT'S '_POOR MARK!_' WHAT ABOUT POOR _ROGER!_ ROGER _DIES!_ OH, _FUCK_ ROGER!" He grabs me by the shirt, slamming me against the wall, pinning me up so that my feet dangle just above the ground. "JUST _FUCK ROGER! IT'S 'POOR MARK!'_"

"_IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!_" I scream at him, shaking from pure rage, and from Roger's own shaking hands.

"_GUYS!_" Suddenly I realize that Mimi is right behind Roger and is trying to pull him off of me. "ROGER, PUT HIM DOWN!"

"MIMI, HE DOESN'T _DESERVE_ YOUR KINDNESS! WHEN ALL OF _US_ DIE..."

"HE WILL SIT AT ALL OF OUR FUNERALS AND CRY OVER OUR DEAD BODIES!" Mimi is trying to pull him off of me, almost hysterical.

There is a long silence, during which the three of us are completely silent, me and Roger glaring at each other with complete loathing and Mimi still trying to pull Roger off of me. Finally, Roger lets go of my shirt, and I fall a few inches to the ground, having to lean against the wall for support, suddenly very weak. Roger turns away from me, and I see his fists clenching. Just as everything is still, he spins around, his fist making a hard blow to my face. I fall to the ground, clutching my face, feeling blood coming out of my nose. "Take that, you motherfucker. If you're lucky, you'll die of blood loss."

"ROGER!" Mimi is completely hysterical now; I can even imagine the tears falling down her face as I clutch my face, my nose stinging horribly. The blood feels horrible in my fingers, and I almost feel sick just from feeling it. I can do nothing but sit against the wall, clutching my face, using every bit of will power I have to not break down into tears in front of Roger from the pain. My eyes are clenched shut, so I cannot see anything. The blood feels horrible on my hands...I finally hear and feel footsteps storming out of the loft, and a door slamming loudly. I feel Mimi kneel down in front of me. "Mark, are you all right?"

I let go of my face, letting the blood fall down freely now, dripping out of my nose and down my face. I look up, glaring at the door. "I hate him...I _hate _him..."

Mimi takes me by the shoulders, making me face her. "Mark, you do _not_ hate him. He's your best friend. You're just angry..."

"Did you hear? All that stupid shit he said!" My mind is so cloudy and filled with rage, I can hardly think straight. "All that..._stupid_..._shit_...he said..."

Mimi stands up suddenly, going over to the phone, picking it up and dialing a number quickly. A pause. "Collins? Umm...no, it's not all right...No, it's not Roger...it's Mark...I'm-I'm not sure...I dunno...Collins, just come quick!" She hangs up the phone, collapsing to the ground in convulsive sobs. I can do nothing but stare at the door with complete loathing, the only thing stopping me from breaking down into sobs myself...

After a minute, Mimi must have gotten up and left, even though I don't notice her leave. All I can think about are his words. How they ring in my ears, echoing every word that came out of that idiot's mouth...

I have no idea how long I sat there, simply hating Roger when I felt like crying. All I know is eventually the door bursts open, revealing a distressed Collins. The second he sees me, he rushes to my side. "Mark! What the hell happened?"

"The biggest...mistake...of my life...happened..." My voice sounded so odd, since I could hardly breathe through my nose anymore, though I don't really care. I continue to glare at the door as Collins lifts me up with some difficulty and sets me on the couch.

"What happened?" He looks at me straight in the eyes, and I know he can tell I'm angry.

I take multiple deep breaths through my open mouth before speaking. "That idiot... that _idiot_..."

Somehow, Collins comprehends almost immediately what happened. "Oh, damn..." He stands up immediately. "You stay here. If I come back and you're gone, you will never hear the end of it from me." With that he turns and leaves, leaving me with my drying lips, my blood-covered face, and my hatred of a man I thought half an hour ago was my best friend.

.-.-.

**A/N**: WHEE! It's the new craze that's sweeping (OK, not really, I made it up, but it's GONNA BE A CRAZE!)

Count the F Bombs!  
Rules:  
1) READ THE RULES.  
2) Count how many times you drop an F bomb in all of your published RENT fan-fictions (Authors Notes don't count towards the total!) on This is your High Score!  
3) Count how many times you dropped an F bomb for each story! Tell us in Story Count (SC)! (You can use abbreviations for your stories.)  
4) Count how many times each character dropped an F bomb (who was talking, whose POV it was)! Tell us in Character Count (CC)! We'll find the biggest potty mouth in RENT! (Original character's F bombs do not count towards the Character Count, but do count towards your Story Count and your High Score!)  
5) When you first find a high score on somebody's profile higher than yours, put their high score and their pen name in the 'Highest Score I've Seen'. (HSIS) If you see in somebody else's HSIS a score higher than your HSIS, copy the number and pen name there and make it your new HSIS!  
6) Post this exact paragraph (with your stats) in your profile! We will begin an epidemic of the sweetest game ever! Any questions, message Kiwi Anime, the creator.  
My High Score: 18  
Story Count: ATLL: 3 MsJ: 1 MPS: 13! Buzzline: 1  
Character Count: Roger: 15 Mark: 3 Mimi: 0 Maureen: 0 Joanne: 0 Collins: 0 Angel: 0 Benny: 0   
Highest Score I've Seen: 23 (Kiwi Anime)  
Comments on My Score: So, Roger has 15/18 f-bombs. And half of those f-bombs occurred in MPS, simply because of that last section. XXDD And Mark's 3 f-bombs are from MPS too, because Mark randomly felt like swearing. I usually don't let Mark swear unless it's in Hebrew. XXDD


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Yeah, so I'm going to probably have to space out the chapters for this fic, since this is the third chapter I've written for it. I haven't been able to publish ANYTHING for a while; I've got to post up the next few chapters of MsJ and now the first two chapters of this. Plus this is a very long chapter. I considered cutting out the part with the junkies in the middle; review and tell me whether that part was useful or not. I think I might come back to them, though...

Oh, and I noticed the other day that the abbreviation for this story is funny sounding when you say it out loud. Wimlg. WIMLG!

So, let's see what my characters decide to do now... Oh, at the end of this chapter, I will be explaining my process of writing chapters, since somebody messaged me saying they were confused.

P.S. January 1st, 12:00 PM, Central Standard Time. From here on in, I'm writing my authors notes this way. XXDD So I wrote this chapter about a week ago, and, asI think I might have said already, I'm actually finished with this fic, and I'm already writing it's sequel, which I have temorarily named 'Figuring Out My Life'. ;) It's gonna be hard to write the next one. ANYWAYS...enjoy Chapter Three of WIMLG!

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **language**._

**Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter Three**

I must have started crying eventually, because I can suddenly hear the sounds of two distressed women sitting next to me on the couch, one of them saying over and over, "Why today? _Why _today?" It takes me a minute to realize my eyes are closed, but the moment I open them the tears come out harder. Shaking with sobs, I clench my eyes shut, wishing they will just leave...leave me with my hatred, leave me _alone_...

"Mark, calm down..." I can feel delicate arms pulling me into a tight hug, and I listen to Maureen's soft voice. "Just calm down, Mark..."

I can't. I can't calm down. I hate Roger, though why I'm not entirely sure, the tears are clouding everything in my mind...I only know that I hate Roger, I hate him, and that's all that matters, the single solid truth I understand. Nothing else makes sense anymore, but that does, for some reason. I hate him... "I hate him..."

"Stop talking nonsense, Mark," I hear Joanne say from beside me. "You both got into a fight, and you two have been friends for too long to let one fight break you up."

"I hate him...I hate him..." The solid truth, the only thing I knew was correct. My brain was slowly growing clearer, as I realized more things. _I care about Angel! How _dare _he say I don't care about Angel, or anybody else! He acts like he is the only one who goes through anything...I have to be the one to survive..._

_Oh, God...what if he's right? It's like Halloween all over again...I'M BACK WHERE I STARTED..._

Suddenly I'm sobbing harder than ever before at this horrible realization. Maureen's soft arms are trying to comfort me, holding me close, her warm body trying to calm my cold and shaking one. But I can't get over it..."He's right...I haven't changed..."

"Mark, what are you going on about?"

The confusion in her voice stabs me in the heart. She doesn't understand. None of them understand. They don't accept me. They _know_ I'm never going to change. It'll never be different, because I'm such an idiot, and I _can't_ get over my fears...I can't change.

All at once I find myself standing, pulling myself out of Maureen's tight grasp, my eyes opening, the tears still flowing down my cheeks covered in dried blood. Maureen stands up next to me. "Mark?" I stagger over to my room, throwing my bedroom door open, not even glancing at her. "Mark, what are you doing?" I furiously grab a bag from underneath the bed, grabbing random clothes off of the floor and throwing them in. "Mark..." I throw the camera in next, then a single roll of unused film. "Mark, you're shaking..." My trembling hands pull the zipper up, sealing the bag as I throw the strap over my shoulder and heave it out of my room, Maureen following me out. "Mark, put that bag down..."

"Mark, where in the world are you going?" Joanne is standing now as well, and I can hear a sort of panic in her voice. "You can't leave, not like you are now..."

"Tell that bastard he doesn't have to wait for me to crawl back to him." I turn around in the doorway, facing the two of them. "Because _I'M NOT COMING BACK." _With that, I turn around, running as fast as I can away from the loft, down the stairs, out of the building. I can hear shouts behind me, telling me to come back, that I'm being an idiot. _Tell me something I don't know already_. Soon I'm in the cold January night, rushing down the sidewalks as fast as I can.

I feel like I run for ages and ages, running from my fears, my pains, my dreams that have stabbed me in the heart too many times. I can no longer run anymore, as I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck to keep out the impending cold. I can feel my tears freezing on my cheeks, mingling with the dried blood already there. I continue to breathe harshly through my mouth as I fall against a wall, struggling to stay standing, knowing the minute I fall I will be lost. I can feel my throat wanting to dry up, and I desperately wish that I could breathe through my nose. I shiver violently, wrapping my arms around my bare arms, and I desperately with that I hadn't forgotten my coat in my hurry. I feel myself sliding down the wall, kneeling on the cold cement, and I desperately wish that I could just crawl into a warm bed and escape the cold and hide from the cruelties of the world that's closed in around me.

Tears fall silently down my cheeks, and I desperately wish that I hadn't just abandoned the only people I had truly loved as a family...

.-.-.

This tunnel, it's so long...I've been walking down this tunnel alone for so long, I don't want to go down it anymore. I want somebody to come and lift me out of this tunnel, like an angel, a savior to save me from my solitude...Suddenly, just as the thoughts come to mind, I seea glowing figurein front of me. Somehow I know who it is, even though I don't understand why I'm seeing them. "Angel?"

"You said you wanted an angel, hon." Angel smiles at me, warming me with herkindness.

I stagger towards Angel through the tunnel, but it's so hard to move forward, as if some invisible force is holding me back. "Angel...why can't I go with you?"

"Because you need to stay." Angel's smile is hauntingly perfect...I feel so incompetent next to it...

"Why me!" I cry out desperately to Angel, falling to my knees. "It's so hard..."

"You've just gotta be strong, 'cause you're something special, Mark."

"What? I don't have AIDS?" I'm extremely cynical with this remark, but the second the words escape my mouth I regret them. "Sorry...I didn't mean..."

"No, you're right!" Angel smiles at me, as if she's overjoyed at me understanding it. "You have life! You just don't understand how beautiful your life can be yet."

"But how? How can I figure that out?" I desperately try to stand, but it's too hard...

Angel's smile tells me everything. "Hon, I'm no Houdini. You're on your own on that one."

"But...Angel, I'm so confused..." Already Angel is getting blurry, slipping away, and the force that keeps me from getting to her is pulling me down. "Angel, help me..." Iam sinking, falling into darkness once again, deeper into the tunnel Icannot escape...

"Just hold on..."

"I...I can't..."

.-.-.

"I...I can't"

"Did he just say something!" I can hear a concerned female's voice, but my foggy brain can't piece together the identity.

"I think so...Hey, fella, you all right?" A man's gruff voice now. I'm having more difficulty piecing together who they are. I don't recognize them at all... "Can you hear me?"

Slowly I open my eyes, confused. Hovering over me are two very blurry outlines of people I don't know. I blink, wondering why I can't see. One of them, who seems to have dark skin, gives a sigh of relief. "Yep, he's awake."

I blink a few more times, but the blurry figures above me do not sharpen at all. "Glasses..." My own voice is odd to my ears, hoarse and croaking out.

"Oh, shit, these are probably his..." I hear the female's voice, slightly squeaky in an annoying sort of way. A moment later, I feel cold metal sliding onto my face, and immediately the image sharpens as I look at the two people above me. One is a young woman with pale skin and long black hair, and the other a man with dark skin. I have _never_ seen them in my life.

"...Who are you?"

The woman laughs lightly, smirking. She has an odd smirk, as if she's hiding a funny secret. "We saw you collapse, so we came to help you some. You feeling better?"

I blink, looking at her, still wondering who in the world these people are. My brain is still very foggy, and I can hardly remember where I am... "I dunno...where am I?"

"The corner of AvenueA and 14th street," the man says, his voice gruff and coarse. He has a straight face, and he makes me think of one of those army officers who never lets _anybody_ look into his soul.

I blink a few more times, wondering why I had only made it as far as Avenue Aand 14th street before collapsing, silent. The woman takes my silence as a signal to say something. "And about who we are, it's not important. You gotta place to go back to?"

Rushing back to me come the memories of a few hours ago, and I feel my stomach lurch."...No."

"That explains the bag," says the man, who has gotten up and gone over to a bag a few feet away from me. My bag. I see him pull out my camera, examining it. "You've got some expensive stuff for a bum."

I immediately want to stand up, but I'm so weak all I can do is call out, "Careful with that!"

The man looks over at me, an eyebrow raised, holding the camera idly between his hands. "You a filmmaker or something?"

_YOU'RE STILL THE FUCKING FILMMAKER, STUCK WITH US! _I double over suddenly, suddenly feeling like I'm going to be sick. I roll over on my side, promptly throwing up all over the pavement. Once I've emptied what little contents my stomach was holding before, I can hear a soft laugh from the woman beside me. "You just getting off a trip, filmmaker?"

I look up at her, a little dazed by her suggestion. "I don't use."

The woman puts her hands up mockingly. "Just asking." She stands up slowly, and I can see a slight swagger in her walk as she goes over to the man, looking over his shoulder at my camera. "That's a nice little thing there, filmmaker."

The man looks up from the machinery, glancing idly at me. "You gotta name, filmmaker?"

I blink. "Mark. And you still haven't told me your names." I am slowly gaining strength, and I use what little I have gained since I woke up to slowly sit up and lean my back against the cold brick wall behind me. I vaguely realize that I can breathe through my nose again, and I assume that these people must have cleaned off the blood on my face that was preventing me from doing so earlier.

"I'm Rube, and this guy right here is Gruff," the woman says, slapping the man on the back as he is mentioned. The man simply raises a hand in acknowledgement, now looking through the rest of the stuff in my bag.

I immediately grow very uncomfortable at the man looking through my bag. What if these two are just robbing me? "Why are you looking at my stuff?"

"Seeing if you've got a coat or something. Your face is almost a blue as that funky scarf you're wearing. Why the hell aren't you wearing a coat in this weather?" The man looked up at me again, his eyebrow raised once again.

I feel another pang in my stomach, but I control it, telling myself to get a grip on myself. "Long story. Look, I need to get going...I'm...going to the train station." I slowly stand up, sliding up the wall for support.

The woman raises an eyebrow at me now, and I am getting two different vibes from these people: they think I am very odd compared to them, and they are most likely junkies, judging from the woman's swagger and odd smirk. "Why you going to the train station? Where you headed?"

I shrug, now fully standing up, but still leaning against the wall for support. "Not sure yet. I just have to get out of here...Can I just have my stuff?" I hold an outstretched hand at the man, who shrugs, stuffing the stuff back into my bag and zipping it up. "Thanks for the help, but...I've really gotta go."

"If you don't know where you're going, why not wait until morning? We can get an extra blanket for you somehow..." The woman has that same smirk again that gives me yet again the impression of a junkie. I have seen it so many times in...him.

Angry at myself immediately for thinking of that idiot, my brow furrows as I take the bag from the man, now standing on my own, not as weak anymore. "No thank you." I walk out of the alleyway, out onto AvenueA and the sounds of a police siren somewhere down the street. I sigh, making my way down the street a little ways down to a subway stop.

A subway ride later, I emerge into the very quiet Grand Central Station. I look around for a clock, and it tells me that the current time is 11:20. Just as I begin making my way to a ticket counter to see what trains are leaving at this time of night, a voice behind me makes me jump a mile in the sky.

"I had a feeling you'd come here."

I spin around, my heart racing. Seeing who it is, I feel as if a knife has been shoved deep into my chest. "Collins..."

Collins gives me a smirk, but I can see a sort of anger in his eyes I don't like at all. "I thought I told you that you would never hear the end of it from me if I came back and you were gone. But I guessed it wouldn't get through your skull anyways."

I take a step back, away from him. "Collins, please...I can't stay here anymore..."

If Collins hadn't been expecting what I said, he doesn't show it at first. But I realize he's worried the moment he speaks. "I don't know what you're going on about. Come on, you're coming with me."

"I'm _NOT_ going back to the loft, if that's what you're trying to do..." I feel like he is advancing on me, even though I know his feet are planted on the ground and I am the one backing away like some frightened animal. "_NEVER_."

"I'm not going to make you go back, Mark." I freeze, my eyes wide as I continue to listen to him. "You can stay ata hotelfor a day or two, or however long you need. But you're not leaving New York, because you'll regret it later."

"Why would I regret it!" My hands are shaking now, clenched into fists. "Why...It's so...I just can't...just _can't_..." Suddenly I was on my knees, my bag fallen to my side.

Collins is next to me immediately, lifting me up. "Come on, you're not gonna break down in the middle of Grand Central. You can wait till we get to the hotel. Come on, Mark, come on..." Speaking to me softly and offering a shoulder for me to lean on, he leads me around, back onto the subway, and eventually back to the hotel, where I fall asleep almost immediately on the couch as silent tears fall down my cheeks once again.

.-.-.

**A/N**: See? Big Long Chapter. NOW you get a nifty extra gift just for reading this!

_How Kiwi Writes Her Fics (With ATLL as an example)_

1) First, I have to get an idea. For ATLL, I simply got an idea that Mark would be trying to figure out his future by looking through his past, AKA a sort of 'bridge the gap' between New Years and Halloween, where that small gap was hardly touched on in the musical or the movie. Then I thought, 'Hey, how about I use the film as a way to look at the past?' It sounded good to me.

2) I have to figure out the main points: 'How' and 'Why'. The 'how' is usually the easy part: whose POV it is, how they view the flashbacks, what tense it should be in (past or present). The 'why' is the tricky one: what is the reason behind this fic? Why do the characters do the things they do? For ATLL, the 'how' took about two seconds to decide: Mark's POV (duh), the film, and present tense, so that it seemed to be more 'alive', going with the whole life thing. The 'why' took a while, and kinda developed as I wrote the fic, but I basically said the whole 'why' in the first few paragraphs of Chapter One.

3) I think up a few random 'what's. Now, 'what's are always least important because they're just little things in the plot, and plots are useless if there's not a good reason behind them. So, for ATLL, I thought up basically points in time I had decided long ago: the time of confusion in January, the extreme tensions of February, March, and April, and the coming back together in May.

4) So, steps 1-3 are all about planning. From then on, it's spontaneous. I think up a beginning, a way to give people a peek into what the fic is going to be like, or not. Then, I write. For ATLL, I just decided I wanted to start with Mark talking directly out of his thoughts, which only happens a few times throughout the fic. I decided he would come into the loft after a long day out doing something (didn't matter what), and Roger would probably be out. I liked the nice effect of Roger entering, the sounds he makes and his quick appearances nice ways of breaking up the action of Mark getting ready.

5) From this point on, I write on instinct. I really never plan anything I write. I suddenly envision an idea when I begin a chapter, and I go with it, always keeping in mind my 'why'. For ATLL, I never planned most of anything that ended up happening until right before I started writing the chapter. For instance, when I was about to write Chapter Three, I knew I wanted to start with Mark all weak, but that was all. After his film stops the second time, right before Roger came on the film and yelled at Mark, I was going to stop there, and I believe Roger was going to come in and they would have some weird conversation about something I hadn't really thought through yet. But then, the next thing I knew, I was writing 'OK, Mark, I dunno how the f--- you work this dumb thing.' And it just came out like I had known I would write that all along from there. The craziest chapter was Chapter Seven, the last chapter. You know why? I didn't know I was going to end the chapter when I started typing it. They were gonna walk around for a while, and they were going to go back and keep watching stuff. But I suddenly realized Mark didn't need to see anymore. What else could I point out? What would he get out of anything else? He'd seen enough. So, suddenly, I was finishing the fic. XXDD

6) One of the riskiest things about writing on impulse for me is staying in character. Since I am an actress, characterization comes easily for me. When you act, you become another person, not just act like them. You know everything about that person, from what they would eat for breakfast that morning to what color socks they were wearing and if they matched or not. That way you can know exactly what a character would do because you know that character. Of course, the more things you have in common with a character, the easier it is to characterize, which is why I think my first RENT-fic ended up being Mark POV. But whenever I finish typing a chapter, I re-read it and make sure I did all of the characters right and didn't get too carried away with whatever plot I was developing, since plots are useless when compared to the 'how' and 'why'. For ATLL, I literally deleted entire chapters and rewrote them because I felt they were out of character.

So, now you know. That's how I write fan fictions. My writing method for just normal stories is MUCH more different. I plan EVERYTHING for my normal stories. XXXDDD Thank you for letting me waste your time by reading my pointless little space-taker-upper!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n**: So, it's about four in the morning, so I will probably re-write this chapter anyways, but I have to write something.

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **language**._

**Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter Four**

My dreams are filled with accusations, shouts..._For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera alone? You trying to sympathize with us, trying to tell us to not deny our emotions, telling us to just 'talk to the camera', that's just you hiding even more! YOU'RE NO DIFFERENT! YOU'RE STILL THE FUCKING FILMMAKER, STUCK WITH US! IT'S POOR 'MARK!' 'POOR MARK!' 'POOR MARK...'_

"NO!" I sit up straight suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat. I can suddenly hear a soft voice echoing in my head..._Just hold on..._ "HOW!"

"Mark!" Collins literally falls through the door of his bedroom, stumbling over to me, groggy. "What the hell?"

I'm staring straight forward, too frightened. The shouts are still ringing in my ears, and the soft voice trying to calm me isn't doing anything. _Just hold on._ "How?" I whimper, helpless, confused, hiding my face in my hands like a wounded child. "How...?" I am weak, without hope. Trapped, in this hell I have created, where I cannot fix it...

"How what?" I feel a strong hand on my shoulder, and it only makes me shake even harder. "Mark, what is it?"

I shake my head, my face still buried in my hands. They won't understand, because I'm such an idiot...Oh, God, I can never change...I'll always go back to being the same filmmaker, self-absorbed in my own demented way that has created a hell for me and those around me...

"Mark, you can tell me...Don't shut _me_ out, Mark." I cannot respond. Why try opening up again? All that will happen is a brief moment of happiness, and then falling once again, back into this state. "Mark, come on. Was it a bad dream?"

I'm still shaking uncontrollably, suppressing the tears that are threatening to spill out. "My life...my shitty life..."

"Mark, if _your_ life is shitty, that's bad news for the rest of us." Collins gives a short laugh, but I cannot bring myself to laugh back. "Mark, if you don't tell me, I'll take a guess myself." I remain silent. "Guess it's a guessing game then. OK...Roger said something stupid that he didn't mean, and you're taking it too hard, just like you did...well, a few months ago." I remain silent still, and Collins gave a sigh. "I could _tell_ you were taking it hard, Mark. You didn't have to tell me. Just the way you were acting right before I left you, getting ready for that meeting with that Buzzline chick. But you turned around, remember? You quit the job and everything. And you're turning around still..."

"No, I'm not." I blurt out the words before I can stop myself. Stunned that I have let it out, I bury my face further in my hands, almost curling my spine slightly as if to protect myself from an invisible force.

There is a long silence. "Ok, there's something that happened I don't know about, right? Something happened that _made_ Roger be all stupid like he always does. Something happened." I'm breathing heavily now, trying to calm down. "Okay, you won't tell me that, and I am not leaving you here to go and find out. So you get to come with me to the loft."

I spring up immediately, as Collins jumps out of my way in surprise. I begin backing away from him almost as fast as I can. "I'm not going back there. I can't stay..."

"Mark, _why can't you stay?_" Collins was getting desperate now. "Please, Mark, _tell me_. If you don't think you're turning around, here's your chance. Just tell me...just tell me what's going on...I want to help, Mark. All of us always have. And I thought, for about the past week, that we have."

"_EXACTLY_." I'm shaking so hard I'm amazed I can still stand. "I thought so too, Collins. I _thought_ I was leaving it behind, I _thought_ I understood now. But now I realize...I'm just a spineless coward, I can't do it...it's too hard to change...too hard to let all these things in so suddenly..." I fall to my knees. "I've always hid...but I don't want to...but I can't! And I'll-I'll never be able to change myself..."

"A little melodramatics never hurts, Mark."

I look up, eyes wide, not believing what I had just heard. Collins turns around, looking at the front door of the hotel room, where a voice had come from behind it. I panic almost immediately, muttering under my breath. "Oh, shit, don't let him in, Collins, no, not now...shit, _shit..._" I stand up, backing away from the door, as if the person behind it was going to break in and stab me with a knife if I let them in.

Suddenly, Collins has grabbed me by the arm, holding me in place. "Mark, you will _calm down_."

I was shaking my head furiously. "Don't let that _idiot _in...I hate him...I _hate_ him..."

"Didn't realize I had that big of an impact on you, Mark."

I turn my head to glare at the door. "SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU! EVER AGAIN!"

There is a long pause. Finally, Collins takes a deep breath, leading me over to the couch. "Mark, sit down." I won't. I know what he wants to do. He wants to let him in, and let him attack me even more, leave me in a worse shell than I already am in... "_SIT_." Using both hands on both of my shoulders, Collins literally shoves me down into the couch, forcing me to sit as I continued to shake, massive tremors making my body get close to having a seizure. Collins finally releases me, going to the door. "We're figuring out _what happened_." He sets his hand on the doorknob, turning it and opening, revealing the last thing I want to see.

Roger is looking at me with cold eyes when I first see him beyond the door. The two of us simply look at each other for a moment, Roger's eyes cold, while I am shaking, wanting to jump up and punch _him_ once or twice in the face. I hate him...I _hate_ him...

"No need to look so friendly, Mark." Roger said my name every time with a horrible emphasis, as if he was spitting venom. He had come to do it all over again. The wounds are already open and bleeding, Roger! Don't cut them again when they haven't even healed...For a moment, I want to beg him so, beg him not to dig the wound that had formed in my heart even deeper...but my anger quickly takes over. Something must have happened for that moment, because Roger laughs lightly. "I hate it when you get that look, Mark. Make's me almost feel sorry for you. _Almost_."

"Roger, sit down." Collins is looking at both of us with stern looks, and I feel him almost tense, as if he's prepared to pin one of us to the ground in a moments notice if needed. Roger watches me a moment longer, and then nods, walking into the hotel room, pulling the chair situated in front of the desk by the door out a little bit and sitting on it, quite a few feet away from the couch, but still close enough that I could jump up pretty fast before Collins could stop me and get to him. I wouldn't be able to do much, but the image of attacking him keeps replaying in my head...

"OK, Roger, we get to start with you." Roger turns to look at Collins, but my eyes don't leave him for a moment. "I have a pretty strong hunch this started when you went back to the loft to grab the cake. Am I correct?" Roger gives another cold look in my direction, and then looks back at Collins, just barely nodding his head. "Finally, we've got a solid fact. Roger goes to the loft, something happens. Now, what happened?"

For the first part, Roger isn't even glancing at me. "Yeah, I got back to the loft to grab the cake, and I thought I would grab something out of my room before I headed back. And I saw a message on the answering machine." At this point he looks at me, eyes cold and, as I see now, filled with hate. "He got an interesting message, didn't you, Mark?" Once again, he seems to be spitting venom as he says my name. "Go ahead and tell Collins about a Ms. Nancy Moles from Peaks Studios..."

"Roger, _please_." Just as I am about to jump up and say something, Collins stands up instead, looking at Roger with a stern gaze. Roger gives me a horrible look, and then leans back slightly in his chair, indicating he's not going to talk anymore. Collins sighs, looking at me as he sits back down. "Mark, can you tell me what the message says?"

I close my eyes, burying my face in my hands once again, not responding immediately. Just as Collins is about to complain once again that I'm not saying anything, I speak. "Yeah, I got a message. I sent some footage of my documentary...to this company we got an ad for in the mail...and they wanted to hire me."

"He _sold out_ to a film company in LA, Collins," Roger adds, looking at me again with still icy-cold eyes. I could almost feel his eyes glaring at me as I hid my face in my hands even more. "Sold his fucking soul. And you know what he said! He said it was easier to sell it than to hide it inside!" Roger stands up suddenly, as if the audacity of what I had said was overwhelming. "Do you buy that load of shit, Collins!"

"Roger, first, I don't think Mark has sold out until he has gone out to LA and signed a contract. Second, I think I'm catching what's going on."

"Fuck, Collins, I didn't come here to make up with the idiot!" Roger throws his arms in the air, and my arms are suddenly shaking. "I came to tell him the rest of his stuff is on its way."

I drop my arms, my hands clenching into fists as I glare up at him. "You can't kick me out of the loft! I freaking bought the space in the first place!"

"Who paid whatever rent we paid? Me!"

"Yeah, until you..."

"WHAT? Until I what!" Roger is glaring at me, as if daring me to say the forbidden words. "Go ahead! Say it!"

I stand up, my fists clenched at my sides. "UNTIL YOU FUCKING WENT ON WITHDRAWL!"

Roger takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down, but I know it's doing the exact opposite. I realize that he's not moving, not prepared...and, without thinking, I let my fist fly for his face.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. His hand catches my wrist in midair, glaring at me. Using his free hand not holding my right one, he winds up, ready to let fly...

"STOP." The two of us are separated suddenly by a massive force in the form of Collins pulling us apart. I lunge at him, trying to hit him, anything to cause him pain, anything near what I feel, anything even remotely similar... "MARK, STOP." Collins shoves me quite roughly as I stumble backwards, falling onto the couch. Collins turns on Roger. "Roger, leave before you try to do something you'll regret."

Roger looks over Collins' shoulder at me, glaring with vivid loathing so strong I can almost feel it. He turns around, walking towards the door.

"HEY!" He freezes in the doorframe as I suddenly shout out. "Imagine Mimi was gone! Imagine your guitar, your stupid music, all that shit you can enjoy and love...it's gone. There's NOTHING in the world you can trust anymore, because all of it seems to stab you in the heart! Just try to imagine that! CAN YOU IMAGINE IT, ROGER!"

Roger spins around, and I am amazed to see tears falling down his face. "You motherfucker, I live like that every day." He turns around, storming out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind him.

I let out a furious scream, viciously punching the cushion of the couch. Suddenly I break down into sobs, throwing myself against the couch, sobbing. "You idiot, that's how _I_ live..."

.-.-.

**A/n**: Wow. It may be because it's now 6:15 in the morning, but that chapter actually doesn't look too bad. I'll have to re-read it. And I already have an idea for Chapter Five in my head, but I know I will never wake up if I don't go to sleep. XXXDDD


	5. Chapter 5

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG._

**Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter Five**

_Riing_. "...Hello? Umm, is Nancy there? She is? Err, all right..._I can't believe I'm doing this again_...Hello? Ms. Moles? Hi, it's Mark Cohen. You left a message on my machine the other day...Yes. I think I'm interested. Yes, I'm ready for the challenge. ...I don't sound enthusiastic? Oh, well...it's been a long day or two for me. Don't worry. I'm ready. (I hope) Oh, nothing, just a cough. -cough- See? No, I'm not sick. ...All right...Yes...A week from today?...All right...Fine. Thank you very much, Ms. Moles." Sigh. "It's some sort of vicious cycle, Mark. First you start repeating your mistakes. Then you start talking to yourself. Now you know you've lost it." Sigh. "Here's to a new life that isn't as shitty as this one."

.-.-.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do, Mark?" Collins is watching me loading every last possession from the cardboard boxes Roger had roughly shoved the rest of my belongings in into a big suitcase.

I nod my head. "It's pointless. I'm lost here now, Collins." I pulled out the projector from the box, setting it very delicately in the suitcase. "I don't know where my life is going anymore, but I don't think it's here. I have to fix this somehow."

Collins is sitting on the hotel bed, desperately watching me. "Are you sure...? Isn't there some way you can stay?"

I look up at him, a confused expression on my face. "Collins, I've been trying to find out for the past week. But the studio's already paid for the ticket there and everything," I say, pulling an envelope with a boarding pass to LA inside out of my pocket. "I'm going to have somebody there waiting with a sign with my name on it and a cab and everything." I shrug, forcing a smile on my face. "You didn't have to come down to see me off." Collins just looks up at me with a sort of hopeless expression on his face and I sigh. "Collins, I'm going. I can't cancel the flight; they won't get a refund this late in the game."

"Mark..."

"Collins, this is hard enough. But I can't stay. There's too much."

Suddenly, Collins says something I had never expected him to say. "Mark, why are you running away from Roger?" The second he says it, he clasps a hand over his mouth, regretting it. "I'm sorry..."

I cast my eyes down. "Don't apologize for the truth, Collins. Because that's what I'm doing. Why? Because I'm a coward who can't stand being reminded such every day anymore. They say accepting your stupid weakness is the first step to recovery, even though I think this is far past recovery."

"Mark, that's where you're wrong..."

"Collins, if you're still trying to get me to stay, just..." I looked up at him, and the sadness in his eyes equally matched that of the sadness ripping up my own insides. "...Just don't. I already said it's hard enough. Just...don't make it harder." After a long silence, Collins sighs, getting off of the bed and leaving the room. I reach into the bottom of the box, ready to pull out the last few things. I pull out a canister of film, and then another after that, placing each in my suitcase with a glance at the dates...5/19/90...4/1/90...3/17/90...and one with the date scribbled out. I stare at that particular canister for ages, until finally taking it, going over to the tiny little trash can and letting the hand holding the film hover over the can. I hesitate, suddenly pulling it back to me, unrolling it slightly. Shots of Roger staring at the camera...I immediately drop the film in the trash can, almost contemplating taking one of the free matches and lighting it on fire.

I throw the last canister with the date 1/21/90 on it roughly into my bag, finally closing my suitcase. I've already sold the moviola, which would have been the biggest thing if I'd tried to bring it. It'll be hard to find another one, but I'll hopefully find one in California.

_California_. I'm going to the home planet of sell outs, as Roger used to call them..._SHIT_, there I go, thinking about him again. I'll have to make sure I get rid of anything and everything with him so that he can stop stabbing my heart every time I see his face...

I gather up my camera bag and my suitcase, walking out of the small hotel room with my heavy load, in more than one way, weighing my down like a million tons worth of luggage.

.-.-.

"Gate 21A...Gate 21A..." I haven't used the New York City Airport for years and years. The last time I used it was when I was a little teenager and we used this airport for a family trip to London. I remember hating that trip, though I don't remember why. Being so far away from home had been almost torture. I hardly ever left New York...

And now I'm moving to the other side of the country.

I only have my camera bag now, my suitcase probably being loaded onto the plane already. I look over head at the signs marking the gates. Gate 25A...24A...

For a moment as I walk through the amazingly crowded airport, I panic. I'm _leaving_ New York, my home for as long as I can remember. Born in Scarsdale, NY, raised in Scarsdale, and now I have lived in NYC for multiple years. I've never lived out of the East Coast. Sure, my parents loved taking us on vacations, such as to see our relatives all over the country. But I've never even been to California. Not once. I'll be walking into a city I don't know to start a completely new life.

21A. I walk through the doorway, seeing up ahead that the flight is boarding. I pull out my boarding pass, showing it to the woman at the desk. Then, by the oddest twist of fate in the world, I just happen to look over my shoulder at the crowds still walking through the bustled airport.

That face stood out like a sore thumb, the only thing just standing immobile and staring straight at me. Our eyes connected for an instant, and I am too shocked to even glare at him, even though I sorely wanted to say something to him suddenly...

"Thank you, sir. You'd better get on the flight."

I don't look away from him. Why is he here? Why is _he here!_ It doesn't make sense, any of it. I didn't expect to ever see him again. Why did he come to the airport the day he knew I was leaving?

"...Sir?"

I look away from him, and see the young woman staring at me in a confused way, holding the ticket stub out to me. I blink, taking the stub and beginning to walk onto the extending walk that would take me onto the plane. Just before I know he'll be out of sight, I look over my shoulder.

He's gone.

.-.-.

I walk off of the plane, quite happy to be able to stand once again. I remained completely immobile the entire flight, staring at the seat in front of me the entire time. Some teenager next to me had this annoying portable tape deck with headphones that he had turned the volume up to maximum. I kept silently wishing the tape in their tape would tangle up from him listening to it the _entire_ flight.

I am immediately confronted with a mass of signs. _Mr. Robert Flagg...Ms. Terry N..._Out of about ten people, I can't see any of them with the name 'Mark Cohen' scrawled on them. Finally, I spot a sign that I guess must be me: 'Mark Cowen'. Rolling my eyes, I walk up to the man, who has slicked back black hair and tanned skin. The man holding my sign raises an eyebrow at me as I stop in front of his sign. There is a long pause between us. I blink a few times, and then I point at the sign, saying, "Umm, you looking for me?"

The guy's eyebrow rises a little higher. "I'm expecting a new director for Peaks Studio. I'm looking for a Mark..."

"Mark Cohen. That's me." I think of pointing out to him that it's spelled wrong, but I get the impression that he doesn't really care.

The guy blinks a few times. "Oh. I was expecting somebody more...erm..." He doesn't seem to be able to find the words to describe what he imagined more of. "Do you have any other luggage, Mr. Cohen?" I see him looking at my camera bag oddly, and I get the impression he suddenly thinks I might not have any other luggage.

"Just a suitcase...I should go and get it..." I begin to walk towards the signs that say I would be going to the luggage carousel, realizing after a few steps that the man is following me. I pause, and he stops. I turn around, facing him, confused. "...Why are you following me?"

"To help you with your luggage." The guy says it as thought he didn't think I sounded capable lifting one suitcase.

I raise one of my eyebrows at him. "I can get a suitcase on my own, thanks. You can just...umm...wait over there...or something..." People here are so odd. In New York, strangers were easy to deal with: either they smiled and waved, or they completely ignored you. Here they are much more odd...

I wait for a few minutes, waiting for my brown suitcase to come by. When it finally comes by, I rush up to grab it, hoisting it off of the carousel (with slight difficulty, since a big crowd of people happened to want to stand right next to the carousel to wait for their bags) and taking it back to the guy, who was messing with the buttons on the cuffs of his long sleeved shirt. He looks up when I drop my bag, slightly worn out from having to carry it. "So...do you, just, take me to where I'm going next?"

The guy nods, and suddenly turns, walking away from me. Startled, I quickly hoist up my bag with a heave and jog to keep up with his quick pace. After a few more seconds of trying to keep up with him, I call up to him, "Hey, can I have a little help with my bag?"

He looks over his shoulder, still walking. "I thought you said you could get your suitcase on your own." With that, he faces the front again, and I could swear that he quickens his pace. As I mutter under my breath (Again, only thing Sunday School was ever good for), I decide that this man was the equivalent to somebody in New York who came up to you, beat you up, and took all your money and anything else valuable you had.

On the ride to whatever studio I was going to, I couldn't help but think: if first impressions are anything when considered by ways of new lives, my life here wasn't going to be the happy and exciting one I was hoping for.

.-.-.

**A/N**: Ended up writing a clean chapter. -laughs- Probably because Roger didn't say anything in it. XXXDDD No seriously. Every time I have f bombs, Roger's in the chapter, and if Roger isn't the one delivering the f bomb, it's Mark delivering the f bomb _because_ of Roger. The ONLY time I've written a fic where Roger wasn't dropping the f bomb and it wasn't Mark dropping the f bomb because of Roger would be Macabre Puppet Show, because, as you know if you've read it, _everybody_ gets pissed. XXXXDDDD


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Yeah, I've written SIX chapters on this story, and haven't been able to post any of them. I'll probably post the first two at first. I don't want to post all of them at once...

P.S. January 9th, 8:00 AM, Central Standard Time. Yeah, as I keep saying, I've actually already FINISHED this story. So you don't need to tell me to write the next chapter soon; I try to post up the chapters one every other day. I think I'm nearly finished with Figuring out My Life, but I'm not sure. Enjoy Chapter Six! Hope you like it!

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG for **mild language**. (Hell, damn...)_

**Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter Six**

"So, do you want to take the contract to your hotel to review it until the meeting tomorrow on the thirteenth?"

I blink, this being one of the first easily understood things Nancy Moles has said to me all afternoon. "Erm...sure. Now, I'm confused about where I'll be living, you know..."

The woman in her amazingly prim brown suit smiles at me. "It's easy. We'll help you get a reasonable apartment somewhere near to the studio. When you're busy directing involving projects, we have limited living quarters you'll be able to use so that you can get the most work time. Does that make sense?"

I nod, but of course I'm not done. "What will the pay be? And the rent for this apartment?"

"Well, the rent is between you and the landlord." (_Goody_, I think to myself. _Hope it's not as bad as my last one_.) "But as for your salary, it will depend on the scale of your project. If we think it's an important enough investment, it'll be higher. If it's a simple television airing, you might not get as much."

"Can you give me even a rough estimate?" (Hardly anything she had said had sunk in.)

"Well..." She thought for a moment. "I suppose around 50k a year, estimate."

I blink. That will be enough to pay necessities. Hell, I might not live such a freaking cheap life any more. Hell, name brand cereals might even be possible, with just one person. "I'll take the contract to the hotel and review it, if that's all right with you."

Nancy nods, smiling. "Of course. It would be wonderful to have your talent with our studio."

I stand up, and she stands at the same moment. For a moment I'm confused, but then I remember vaguely what businessmen usually do when a meeting is over, and I extend my hand for a handshake. She accepts it, and we shake hands. She has a firm grip, I notice vaguely.

About half an hour later, I'm up in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling, dazed. I had spent the first week in this city 'getting acquainted with the members of the staff' for the studio on a private tour led by Ms. Moles herself, and I was moving on to the permanent contract stuff. If my first week in the world of sell-outs is anything, it indicates a life full of downright rude people (which I can handle), confusing contracts (which I hope I can handle), and a whole lotta stress. If Roger could see how hard it was to 'sell-out', he wouldn't be so hard on them...

_I'm thinking about him _AGAIN_...dammit..._

I hear a knock on the main door of the hotel, and I get up, blinking. Who could it be? I open the door of my hotel, and the clerk hands me a brown wrapped package. "Mail for you."

I raise an eyebrow at the package. "Who in the world is sending me mail? I haven't been here for a week. I haven't even told anybody this address..."

The clerk shrugs, tipping his hat to me and bidding me a 'good day'. I nod in thanks, not really paying attention, only looking at the package. After turning it over multiple times I can find no return address. But it's clearly addressed to me; my name's on it and everything.

I sit on the couch of the hotel room, setting the box on the floor. It looks about the size to hold a large table lamp...and, after removing the paper, I see with a slight laugh that it actually did hold a table lamp. I open the box, digging through the Styrofoam peanuts to find what's in here.

I find three things. One is an envelope, with the words 'To Our Marky' on it. I stare at this for a while, and then put it aside for a moment. I reach back in and pull out a much softer package, as if it's some sort of clothing wrapped in paper and tied with old strings. The third is something wrapped in newspaper. Who in the world...?

I grab the envelope again, following my impulse at birth to always open the letter than comes with a package first. There is a fold of four sheets of paper in there. I pull them out and begin reading the top one.

_To Our Marky..._

_You left without giving anybody a proper goodbye, mister. So we have to say goodbye to you ourselves._

Oh my God, I think as I continue reading.

_Maureen is the one that suggested putting 'Marky' on the envelope. She wanted to address the package to 'Marky Cohen' as well, but I told her you would throw a fit if somebody delivered you a package saying 'Are you Marky?'._ ('Good guess', I say with a smirk.) _Mark, I was the last person to actually talk to you. _('Collins' I say out loud as I suddenly realize.) _You left me saying you were a coward. I was so sad to hear you say that, I didn't know what to say. So I walked out. And when I came back ten minutes later to try and give you a proper goodbye, you were gone. So, I want to tell you what I was going to tell you before you left: You are brave unlike any of us. You stuck with us, stayed our friends, even as many of them gained what most perceive as a death sentence, myself included. You stayed by all of us, and that takes guts, Mark. So if you _ever_ try to tell me that you're a spineless coward again, I'm going to have to slap you upside the head. Your Brother, Collins._

"My brother..." I get a little choked up as I read that signature out-loud. My brother...a part of my family...

_To Our Wonderful Marky!_

_Mark, if I could pick the hardest-working, most determined individual out there, it would be you. Your dedication awes me beyond description. I will always feel a bond with you because of all the little things we share in common, and some other things that shall remain nameless._ (I can't help but laugh at that.) _Mimi had to wait for ages before she could get the number of the studio you're working for, and then she had to convince them that she was actually your sister and you hadn't seen her since she was a baby and she always wanted to meet her big brother...just to get the address of the hotel you're staying in. _(I laugh out loud once again.) _I hope you find whatever you're looking for with that studio, and I hope you never forget your family is here to take you home. Your Loving Sister, Joanne._

"Sister..." They must have gotten together and done this.

_To my lovely, darling, amazing Marky... _("Wonder who _this_ is," I said out loud with a sneer.)

_Do you like the idea for all of us calling you Marky? That was _my_ idea! Collins wouldn't let me address the package to 'Marky Cohen', though. He's such a spoil sport. Well, I'm never good with words like this, so I'll keep it sweet: you better become a famous movie director or something to have left us without saying goodbye! We're expecting at _least_ two Academy Awards. You better make us proud, because God knows there's already so much about you to be so proud of! Love Your Sister, Maureen. P.S. Open the squishy package!_

I set down the letters, picking up the package I had been told to open. I rip away the paper, and I feel my throat close up. A long, narrow piece of fabric falls out, worn and stretched from so many uses. My scarf...I had forgotten it when I was packing, and had realized I hadn't packed it when I was on the plane...

I can feel a silent tear trickling down my cheek as I moved on to the last letter, muttering a silent 'thank you' to Maureen.

_To Mark_

_I'm writing this quickly, because Maureen might be coming soon and if she sees I'm actually calling you by a dignified name she might have a grade-A fit. But I want to tell you right off the bat: Roger didn't write you a letter, as you've probably figured out from counting the pieces of paper. Mark, I want to tell you, no matter how stupid Roger is, he's not the same anymore. He's different without you to tell him how he's screwing up his life. Now I'm trying to fill in your shoes, and it's almost impossible. Mark, he won't admit it, but I have to tell you this: he misses you, whether you still are angry at him or not. Roger did, however, want to send you something, and to tell you that you should 'remember us'. That not-so-squishy package is his. He gave it to me already wrapped in newspaper, so I dunno what it is. But Mark...Roger really does miss you. And if you feel the same way, I know that he would feel so much better if you would call him and give him a proper goodbye. Your Sister, Mimi, and (in part) Your Best Friend, Rog._

I set the letter down, my hands shaking for some reason. He _missed_ me? What in the world would he have sent me? I pick up the last package, a rectangular something. My trembling hands rip off the paper, and my heart stops.

Maureen and Joanne in a tight embrace...Collins and Angel holding each other...Mimi making an exotic pose...It was the picture, the picture I had developed and left behind when I left. I had left it on purpose...I look it over again, and see with a pang in my chest two young men, making very silly faces for the cameras, looking like best friends..._BEST _friends...

I feel my eyes welling up with tears. Roger didn't need to send a letter. He had said it all.

.-.-.

"Good morning, Mr. Cohen!" Nancy holds a hand out for me to shake as I walk into the office room. "Mr. Cohen, I want you to meet one of our producers, Mr. Bloom, and..."

"Nancy, I need to tell you something." I am determined, and I am ready. "I'm not signing the contract."

Nancy blinked. "...Oh. Well, then, you want to just work minor projects? That's perfectly fine. Many of our..."

"No, you misunderstand me." I was smiling weakly, in spite of myself. "I have somewhere else I need to be. I quit." There was a stunned silence. "You agreed that if I decided to you would send me back to New York, correct?"

Ms. Moles stared at me blankly. After quite a while, she said, very quickly and flustered, "Of-of course. That was our agreement, wasn't it?" She laughed nervously. "Well, Mr. Cohen, might I ask why you are leaving us so soon after beginning?"

I gave her another smile. "Family affairs, Ms. Moles."

.-.-.

_Riiing._ "Hello? Who is this?"

"Joanne?"

"MARK!" I have never heard Joanne so excited as she sounded when she said my name. "Oh my God, it's you! How are you!"

"I'm great, actually. Hey, Joanne, I need you and Maureen's help with something..."

.-.-.

_Riiing._ "New York University, how may I help you?"

"Could you transfer me to Mr. Thomas Collins?"

"Just a moment, sir." _Riiing_. "Hello?"

"Collins?" Stunned silence. "...Collins? Hello?" More silence. "Anybody there?"

"MARK!" I jump at the sudden sound of his voice. Suddenly I can hear him dancing around and singing a song he seems to have invented on the spot. "Hahaha! It's YOU!"

"The one and only. Listen, Collins, I need you to fix something up for me this weekend..."

.-.-.

_Riiiing_. "Welcome to the Cat Scratch Club. How may I help you?"

"Is Mimi Marquez busy?"

"No, sweetie, you caught her on a break. Hold up." Pause. "Hello?"

"Mimi?"

Pause. "Oh...my...GOD! MARK!" She literally squeals into the phone, and I hold the phone about a foot away from my ear as she squeals (and I can still hear her loud and clear). "MARK, IT'S YOU! OH MY GOD! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S YOU, IT'S REALLY YOU!"

"YES, Mimi, It's me." I take a breath before continuing, all these exciting phone calls starting to exhaust me. "Listen...I have something very important I want you to do..."

Pause. "What?"

"It has to do with Roger..."

.-.-.

**A/N:** So, yeah, the next chapter concludes this part. I'm writing this AN the day I'm publishing it, and reading it over again, I realize how much I love it. I hope you loved it as much! CONSTRUCTIVE reviews are STRONGLY encouraged! I'm glad so many of you like it, but surely there's something you think I can fix. About the Sunday/Saturday school, that could quite possibly be true. I'm going to get to research Judaism now, after researching NYC geography. Wow. Amazing how much research can go into writing a fanfic.


	7. Finale

**A/N**: Wow. I think, by an odd twist of fate, this story will be ending in seven chapters just like ATLL. Oo Oh, and this is musical-based, FYI. So Roger and Mimi's first kiss was at the lot, if I'm not mistaken. I know in the movie they made it clear it was in the back of Life, but they weren't so clear in the musical...Anybody wanna clarify which it is?

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **language**._

**Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter Seven**

Even though I could not participate in the entire event, I was able to hear accounts of it from all those I had help me out.

The plan started a Saturday night, about three days after I had called everybody. Mimi and Roger were in her apartment, and (just as I had hoped) Roger was sitting around just doing nothing. Mimi says she was a good actress, but I heard others say that when they saw her earlier he probably guessed something was up early on.

"Hey, Roger, do you wanna play a game?" Mimi smiled at Roger expectantly.

Roger looked up from his guitar, his fingers still playing the song. "...What?"

"A game! Come on, you need to cheer up!"

Roger raised an eyebrow. "What kind of game?"

"How about a scavenger hunt?"

"...Scavenger hunt? Aren't those kind of for kids, Mimi?" Roger was obviously skeptical according to Mimi, but thank God Mimi doesn't take 'no' for an answer. (Otherwise it would have been kind of useless.) In the end, Mimi says she was able to get Roger to play, so she gave him the first clue, having written it down verbatim when I told it to her over the phone: 'Think of a place where cows can jump over the moon...'

According to Mimi, Roger had problems with the first clue. "Mimi, can you give me a hint or something?"

"I didn't make the scavenger hunt, I dunno what it is." Mimi couldn't help smiling.

Roger thought for a second, sitting on the couch, and Mimi says that he had to think for a minute or so. Finally, he got it. "The lot! Duh! Maureen's performance!"

"Well, let's go to the lot!" Mimi grabbed Roger by the hand, dragging him out of the apartment, taking him down the stairs.

.-.-.

"...Are they gone?"

"Yes, go in!"

I open the window, crawling into the old loft after Joanne has given me the OK that Roger and Mimi are safely on their way to the lot. I look around for a moment, amazed by how empty the place looks. It's a lot messier, too. I had thought Roger might have at least made an effort to try and keep the place tidy. I look out the window at Joanne, and see her watching me there. "What are you doing! You need to get to your spot!" She's dashes off down the fire escape, out of sight.

I take the bulky backpack off of my back, taking out a projector, a roll of film, and the picture. Time to get set up before he gets back...

.-.-.

Maureen actually did what I asked her to do and was ready at the lot when Roger and Mimi arrived there. After taking the more believable bits from each side of the story, I formulated a rough theory of what happened at the loft:

Maureen went right up to Roger, handing her a list. "This is a list for you to look at, and your clue is somewhere on here." She smiled at me.

Roger looked between Maureen and Mimi. "Did you two plan this?"

Mimi smiled happily. "Well, more than just us, even, ya know..." Maureen gave Mimi a hard elbow in the ribs before she said anything else. (This is one point I think Mimi's acting skills might have hinted at Roger something was up.)

Maureen had written the list based on all the events I could think of, and according to what I found later, this is what the list ended up containing. "A spectacular jump over the moon by Maureen Johnson. Roger and Mimi's first kiss. The famous riot that resulted in barbed wire being put up all around the lot. Party at to follow."

Roger had to read it once to remember immediately. "Life. Mimi, we gotta go to Life, now, don't we?" Mimi must have given him another big smile because he rolled his eyes. Maureen says he muttered something like 'God, she's enjoying this too much', but Mimi claims to have never heard such a comment. ('That's because you weren't supposed to hear, smart one,' Maureen told her later.)

.-.-.

"Collins? You're doing this, too? Wow, Mimi, what'd you have to do to get _Collins_ to do a scavenger hunt?" Roger was obviously very skeptical when he saw Collins at the entrance to the Life Café.

Collins shrugged as Mimi began to giggle amazingly. (Both Collins and Maureen testified this to me, but Mimi denied it, of course.) "She's persuasive, what can I say?" (I thanked Collins later for covering up for Mimi's acting skills.) "OK, here's your list, and your clues there, too."

The list Collins gave Roger was pretty simple: "Angel's favorite restaurant. Night we were permanently banned from the café as a group. Something's waiting for you at home."

Roger had to think for ages about this one, according to those present. Finally, he realized how simple it was. "It says somebody's waiting for me at the loft, of course. Thought since it was Collins it'd be some deep thing." He turned to Mimi. "Is this thing almost over?"

Mimi only giggled some more, and Maureen had to answer for her while Collins whispered in her ear furiously to try and act a _little_ more natural. "Actually, we're gonna stay here and grab a bite. We may not be allowed to go in as a whole group, but just three of us can have a good meal. You join us when you finish, 'kay?"

Roger was slightly confused, but he shrugged, leaving the rest of them in the Life Café as he made his way back to the loft.

.-.-.

"You nervous, Mark?" I hear Joanne's voice coming from beyond the door.

I finally find the place in the film that I want and rewind it about thirty seconds. He should be finished with my distraction soon. I tried to make it seem as purely Mimi as possible, and a scavenger hunt created by Mimi would never arouse suspicion. And it assured he left the building.

I hear Joanne hiss at me through the door. "Turn it on! He's coming!"

My heart hammering like a drum, I flip on the projector and put the old chair in the correct position, then duck behind the couch, out of view of anyone who didn't physically walk around the couch.

I hear voices in the hallway. "OK, Joanne, am I almost done?"

A pause, and I assume Joanne must be smiling. "Just come on in, and the movie's about to start."

I hear the door open, and I hear Roger say the word, 'Movie?' in confusion. Then he sees the projector. I hear his footsteps freeze. Joanne's voice from the hallway. "Just have a seat in that chair."

I hear hesitant footsteps, and then the sound of Roger sitting in the old chair. I hear Joanne shut the door, and I know I am now alone in a room with a man I wasn't sure until a few days ago I ever wanted to even look at again.

The sound of my own recorded voice floats through the room. "February 14th, 4...Oh, you always hated it when I did that stuff anyways, so screw it. Anyways, it's two days before you're gonna see this that I'm making it."

I hear Roger say softly, "What the fuck?"

"OK, so right now you're probably wondering firstly why Mimi just took you on a scavenger hunt that went to the Lot and the Life Café. Probably wasn't _that_ hard. It was a time-staler. Well, it was so that this film could be set up. I'm worried I'll mess this up if I say it in person, so this'll do."

"..._He _did the stupid treasure thing? What's going...? He stops talking abruptly as I resume.

"Roger, remember when you asked me why I was going through all those clips, about a month ago? I gave you a reason. It's because I wanted to face my fears. Sure, I wanted to. But I was such an idiot, I didn't think I could. Well, not to point fingers, but I didn't get a moral booster or anything." A cynical laugh from Roger. He has _no_ idea I'm right behind the couch. "Roger, if you're laughing, you have a right to. If you've already thrown the projector across the room, I'll understand. Because I was an idiot. And I'm offering up my pride for you to forgive me. I'm trying my hardest, I really am. And just when I really had no idea what I was supposed to be doing in my life...you showed me exactly what I needed, without a single word of writing. See the picture next to the projector?"

There is a scrape as Roger gets up and takes the picture frame from in front of the projector. "My, God..."

"Yeah. Mimi told me I need to remember it. And I did. I remembered that we are a family. And I realized, right about when I realized I had a family, that you needed to know that too. Roger, we have so many people around us that would do _anything_ for us. They're psychos, Rog!" A soft laugh from Roger. "But psycho or not, they stick by us. And you need to see that, too. We both have something we can rely on. I don't have to live in solitude behind my camera, and you don't either! Because we're family, Roger...well, more of a family than I am with my parents or anything." Another laugh from Roger...is he crying? "Roger, I want to ask you...from the bottom of my heart...to look to your left right now..."

With that, I stand up, just at Roger turns to look at me. I shrug weakly. "Can you forgive me for being an idiot?"

Roger blinks multiple times before saying something. "You went through that much shit to ask if I could forgive you."

I shrug again, smiling like a child who has to defend his lowly science fair project. "Yep." A long pause. "Did it work?"

Roger stands up, and I can see tears in his eyes. "Man, you're always my best friend, no matter how much of an idiot you are."

I walk around the couch, and the two of us are in each other's arms immediately, hugging each other happily. "And you're my best friend, Rog. No matter how much of an idiot _you_ are."

Suddenly, I hear applause from the hallway. Both of us pull apart at the same instant as I go to the door, opening up and revealing a hallway full of excited friends. I laugh light-heartedly. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Mimi is smiling really big now. "Well...we couldn't wait to see you to make up."

Maureen nods energetically. "I was going to be so relieved when you two were finally finished fighting.

Roger laughs and comes up to the door beside me. "What if I ended up saying he was an idiot and that he went _waaaay _over the top and we got in another fight?" I roll my eyes. "Which he _did_ go way over the top, and he'll always be an idiot, but that's beside the point." There is laugher all throughout the hallway as I grab Roger around the neck and ruffle his hair with his knuckles, as he begins to protest, "Ow! Mark, come on!" I end up doubling over laughing with the others, and Roger eventually is laughing with us. Somebody shouts out 'Party in the loft!', and everything else is mostly history.

Mostly.

Long after everybody else has left and Mimi had gone downstairs to her apartment to go to bed, me and Roger are sitting on the couch, which is now turned so that we have a clear view of the temporary screen as we watch old footage.

"Haha, that's you are the lot, helping Joanne..." Roger points at the screen as I laugh with him. After a moment of silence, Roger finally decided to be the one to venture on a limb. "Hey, Mark? Do you really think you'll never get better?"

I cast my eyes downward. "I'm trying. But I dunno...it seems to be a circular motion. I have a night of connection with the world on Christmas Eve '89, but I dive into my camera, then Halloween." Roger makes a noise as if to say something, but he cuts himself off at the last second, allowing me to continue. "Then Christmas, I feel connected again, happy. But I slowly start to get scared...So I watch the clips, trying to face those fears. And I...run across that stupid clip."

Roger sighs loudly. "I still can't believe I did that..."

"You don't have to worry. I kinda threw it away and thought of burning it."

"That would have been too noble a death for that shit I said," Roger says, his eyes narrow with distaste.

I sigh. "It was ages ago, yeah. But it hurt back then. But then I thought I had it again, connection. For about two weeks, I saw the world around me outside of my camera. And then..."

"Circular motion," Roger grumbles.

There's a silence between us. Suddenly, Roger speaks up. "Maybe there's a way to break the circular motion. Is there something we can change about the circle?"

I laugh softly. "You can get some anger management classes, and you tell me right now if you made any more tapes while I wasn't looking."

"Well, there was that time when you were sleeping, and you had this _major_ case of bed head, like you always did, only it was _really_ bad this time..."

"_You..._"

"Joking!" Roger is laughing his head of now, and after a moment of being thoroughly annoyed with him, I give in, and start laughing too. A voice suddenly comes wafting up from below us through the open window. "Hey! Can you two up there keep it down? I'm trying to sleep!"

Both of us try very hard not to stop laughing, but the sound of Mimi's voice is just too much. We fall over each other and on the floor, suddenly laughing our heads off. I can faintly hear Mimi mutter something like 'Boys...', but I don't care.

Once Roger can breathe again, he smiles up at me from the floor (I managed to stay on the couch). "This the kinda stuff that breaks that circular motion?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's about right..." The flushed look of his face from laughing so hard gets me going all over again, and we both laugh to ourselves for a minute longer. Finally, I calm down first. "Hey, tomorrow night?"

"What about it?"

"Come on. I'm not letting you waste that money you spent on your 'jewelry' still. Tomorrow night?"

Roger groans. "I dunno..." Honestly...

"Do wanna do it or not!" He's impossible sometimes.

"Well, yeah, but why does it have to be so soon?"

"You've had the ring for a month! Ask her to dinner tomorrow night, get on one knee, and give her the ring!"

Roger bites his lower lip as he looks at me. "It's not easy, knowing I'm going to completely throw myself at her mercy. What if she says she won't?"

I raise an eyebrow as him, smirking. "Come on. A loveable guy like you? Who wouldn't say yes to that little bundle of tantrums and fits?"

Roger rolls his eyes, but he laughs anyways, and soon I'm laughing as well. We laugh, without a care in the world, as we think of how stupid the other is and laugh ourselves to sleep.

.-.-.

February 17th, 3:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time. Roger's currently fussing over whether Mimi would like a fancy Italian restaurant or just a trip to Life. (I tell him that it might be hard for Mimi to hear a proposal over the racket the Life usually comes with.) He's begged me not to tell anybody, even though I'm just dying to let Collins, Maureen, and Joanne in on the secret. He wants to be able to break the news to Mimi first before anybody else knows. (I point out that I'm just a nifty exception, and tells me to shove it.) Speaking of Maureen and Joanne, Joanne might be able to buy a new apartment soon, a little bigger than the tiny one-room-one-bathroom thing Maureen and Joanne have been sharing. It might actually have _two_ rooms now. Collins was able to return to NYU this morning, and I received an excited phone call from him to check the news. We're all impressed that his override of the computers made the 11:00 news, and even more impressed that nobody has traced it back to him. As usual, or as usual as life is, everybody is doing wonderfully in the Alphabet City Avant-Garde.

And I feel like I've got my life figured out. Not quite, but I'm getting there...I think.

.-.-.

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed this story! Leave constructive reviews, please!

Part III of Mark's Life series, 'Figuring Out My Life', can now be found at http/ 


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